


Goodbye Mr. Seacrest, or, To Simon, with Love

by clio_jlh



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, RPF, Romance, Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-22
Updated: 2008-04-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 12:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio_jlh/pseuds/clio_jlh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this companion story to <em>Fast Times at Idol High</em> (a Chris/Blake-centered 80s high school AU), English teacher Ryan Seacrest and dean of discipline Simon Cowell try to help their students fight the system from the inside—and in the process change their own lives as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. September 1981

**Author's Note:**

> For this to make much sense, read _Fast Times at Idol High_, [](http://lillijulianne.livejournal.com/profile)[**lillijulianne**](http://lillijulianne.livejournal.com/)'s Chris/Blake-centered 80s high school AU, which you can do by joining [](http://stepintomyocean.livejournal.com/profile)[**stepintomyocean**](http://stepintomyocean.livejournal.com/).  
> Special thanks to Juli for writing this awesome AU, letting me be a part of it, encouraging me get my teacher kink on, and of course being an amazing beta. Oh, and for writing Ryan and Simon into her story in the first place.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan Seacrest knew when he took the job at John Hughes High that his romantic prospects would be limited. But he wasn't counting on the arrival of Simon Cowell.

Ryan Seacrest has been teaching English at Hughes High for four years, and now, because of a retirement, he's been assigned the AP classes. He's spent the summer looking through years of AP exams and the state requirements, trying to develop a more modern curriculum that would really challenge the students, get them mentally prepared for college. He even steps up his wardrobe, buying three new suits when he visits his parents in Atlanta.

He claimed too much work when he begged off on the usual trip to Pennsylvania for the family reunion over Labor Day weekend. Not that this is the only reason; while his sister was immediately accepting of his sexuality, his parents needed a few years, and things still aren't quite as they were. With the extended family it's even worse—lots of weird looks from cousins and aunts. This is going to be a great year, he can just feel it, and he doesn't need them bringing him down or questioning his choice to teach at a small town school.

The Saturday night of the long weekend, though, he definitely needs to get out of the house. His friend Ben Lyons, a writer for the local paper, calls suggesting the gay bar in Springfield, and while it isn't a place Ryan frequents, a night out with friends will do him good. So there they are, a Gang of Four complete with their own Madame Mao, a hilarious and gorgeous girl named Giuliana DiPandi who likes being able to get a drink or do a little dancing without getting hassled; she works as a fashion buyer for the local department store with Ben's boyfriend, Jason Kennedy, who completes their little party.

"We need to get you a boyfriend, Ryan," Giuliana is saying.

"Shouldn't you get yourself one first?" Ryan asks.

"Well, not _here_," she replies. "And I go on more dates than you do."

Ryan shrugs. He has friends, a job he loves, sex often enough to remember how it feels, and a house full of books. He knew when he came to Hughes that romantic prospects would be limited.

"Too bad it's too early for the new college kids," Ben says.

"Too early? They started a week ago," Giuliana says.

"Yeah," Jason replies, "but it always takes them a few weeks to get up the nerve to come here."

"I don't want a college kid," Ryan says. "They're like the same age as my students. No."

"Besides, Ryan needs to be the young cute one," Giuliana says. "He should have an older man."

"Like that one?" Ben asks, nodding toward the bar.

Standing there is a dark-haired man who looks to be in his mid 40s. He has on a rather tight black t-shirt under his Armani knock-off jacket, which he wears with stonewashed cowboy cut jeans and black boots.

"He's pretty short," Jason says.

"So is Ryan," Giuliana says. "I never get to wear heels anymore."

The man looks over to their table and gives Ryan a smug grin that is both sexy and infuriating, but either way requires a response. He squares his shoulders. "I'll get the next round," Ryan says, standing.

"I'll bet you will," Ben says, and the others snicker as Ryan walks to the bar.

"More of the same, Ryan?" the bartender asks.

Ryan nods and the man—who is about the same height as Ryan—says, "So, you're a regular?" His voice is deep, with an English accent.

"Regular enough," Ryan says.

"But you don't sound like you're from around here," the man replies.

Ryan grins. "No, I grew up in Atlanta. And you?"

"Hertfordshire." He leans in, a conspiratorial look on his face. "That's in England."

"Oh really? I never would have guessed."

"I'm Simon, by the way," he says, extending a hand.

The name sounds familiar, though Ryan can't think why—Simon in the land of chalk drawings, maybe? "Ryan," he replies, and shakes it.

"So," Simon says, looking around, "I take it this is the only game in town?"

"Springfield isn't much of a city," Ryan replies, "and even that only because of the university. But you'd have to drive pretty far to get to something better."

Simon takes a slow drink and looks Ryan up and down, in a way that makes Ryan feel suddenly naked despite his oxford shirt, argyle sweater vest, and brushed cords. "I reckon this place is fine," he says. "For now."

Ryan clears his throat, but before he can reply, Giuliana nudges him. "Oh, sorry, darlin'," Ryan says, turning to the drinks he's ordered.

"Never mind, I've got them," Giuliana says, reaching around him. "You just pay." She gives Simon a little grin, then takes the three drinks back to the table.

Ryan pulls out some money, avoiding Simon's eye, hoping he doesn't look too embarrassed. "So are you here just for the weekend?"

"No," Simon replies. "I've moved here to take a new job."

Ryan nods, following gay bar protocol by not asking further. "Then I hope you'll be here often."

"Yes, I look forward to seeing more of you," he replies. "Tonight, hopefully," he adds, staring right into Ryan's eyes.

He bites his lip. "I don't, I mean, I'm not—"

"I know you don't. I can tell. But we can stand here and buy more drinks, or we can go back to my flat and have the same conversation over a rather nice bottle of wine, and it will all lead to the same place. I already know that you are the only person worth talking to in this room, and I'm not inclined to pay someone else for the privilege." Simon puts his empty glass on the bar. "Not that you don't deserve to be wooed, but you look like a man who likes to cut through the bullshit, too. Am I right?"

Ryan swallows, feeling a little unnerved at having been summed up so accurately. What is that song—about someone reading your letters? "You're not wrong," Ryan says.

"Well then." Simon picks up Ryan's full drink and pours half of it into his glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers," Ryan says, and clinks glasses with Simon's.

* * *

Tuesday is the first day of school for the teachers, a day of big meetings before the actual first day of classes on Wednesday. Ryan feels great—he's been in and out of his classroom preparing it since the end of summer school two weeks ago, and he knows exactly what he's going to say and do on that first day. Lythgoe has even approved his curriculum, which was a close thing, but even as spineless as Lythgoe can be, he likes to think of himself as modern, which makes him easier to manage than one might expect.

Ryan takes a seat next to Phil Stacey near the back of the room. He likes the math teacher, who shares with Ryan a wish to pull Hughes into the 80s or at least into the 70s, and is also going to be teaching the college prep classes. "So today we meet that new dean of discipline Lythgoe's been so excited about," Phil says.

"Oh that's right," Ryan says. He looks up toward the front, and then he realizes why the name "Simon" sounded familiar.

For there, with Lythgoe, is the trick from Saturday night, the sleek Brit with whom he'd had the most intense sex of his life followed by a cozy naked brunch, the man who he can't stop thinking about, mostly because it's Tuesday and far too early to be calling. But there he is, and while Ryan won't be reporting to him, awkward doesn't begin to cover it. Then Simon looks straight at Ryan … and winks!

Ryan struggles to pay attention during the meetings that follow, but he's a professional and a more senior teacher now, and that helps. He eats lunch with Stacey and the other AP teachers, and they discuss coordinating their syllabi. With so many students in common, it makes sense to avoid overloading them at any given point, but also helps to keep them from using the other classes as excuses when unwarranted. It's then that Lythgoe brings Simon around for face-to-face introductions.

"Ryan and I have met, actually," Simon says as Ryan stands to shake his hand. "At the grocer. He recommended the Georgia peaches."

"Of course, I'm partial," Ryan replies.

"He even told me how to cook them. He said if you reach in with a finger, right at that cleft, you can work out the pit with the peach whole."

Ryan clears his throat. "But you have to be gentle. And they have to be very ripe."

"Yes, very. And then …"

"And then you take some soft butter and cinnamon, in a pastry bag," Ryan continues, "and you inject that into the space where the pit was, filling up the hole, and put it in a pan under the broiler, and it comes out running with juices." He and Simon are looking at each other, no one else, and he feels like they're flying. Why isn't he embarrassed? Where are these words even coming from?

"Well," Lythgoe says, "I'll have to try that. It sounds quite delicious."

"It was," Simon says. "Best peach I've ever had."

Near the end of the day, Ryan is in the main office when Simon calls out to him. He goes into Simon's office, closing and quietly locking the door behind him.

"Sit, sit," Simon says, coming out from behind the desk to sit in the other chair.

"Well," Ryan begins. "I just—I meant it, when I said that I don't usually do that. I don't want you to think I'm out looking for Mr Goodbar every night."

"I would hope not," Simon says. "I don't need the competition."

"What?"

"Dinner on Saturday?"

"I—really? You don't think it would be, um …"

"Teachers date all the time. You know that."

"But I'm a man."

Simon shrugs. "Nobody's perfect."

Ryan has to laugh. "I love that movie."

"That's a good sign. So you'll have dinner on Saturday?"

"Come by, about seven," Ryan says. "I'll cook us something." He stands to leave.

"Will you be making those peaches you mentioned?" Simon asks.

"Oh, I think cooking the peaches is your job," Ryan replies.

Going out to his car at the end of the day, he can't help grinning. It's _the year_, man. He turns on the radio as he drives away, and if he's looking for omens, he thinks, he couldn't have found a better one than that song that's been playing all summer, and he sings along, loudly, not caring who hears him: _Who loves you from the start? Who treats you like a star?_

Up in the office, Simon looks down on the young man bouncing through the parking lot in his little vest, and smiles. Perhaps moving to this little town in the middle of nowhere won't be so horrible after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryan's Gang of Four, of course, are his buddies on E!News; the real [Gang of Four](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gang_of_Four), a group of communist leaders in China that included Mao Zedong's widow, were in the middle of their show trial in 1981.
> 
> Simon in the Land of Chalk Drawings was a regular feature on _Captain Kangaroo_, which Ryan would have watched as a kid; Mike Myers cribbed the theme song for his recurring skits of a kid named Simon who sat in his tub and drew pictures.
> 
> The song Ryan can't quite remember is "Killing Me Softly." _Looking for Mr. Goodbar_ was a 1975 novel, and a 1977 movie starring Diane Keaton, about a school teacher who picked up guys for one-night stands. Simon quotes the end of _Some Like It Hot_, where Jack Lemmon reveals to his sugar daddy that he's not a woman by removing his wig and saying "I'm a man!", to which the sugar daddy shrugs and replies, "Nobody's perfect." And of course Ryan drives a 1978 Saab 99 Turbo (his first new car, bought after he'd been teaching for a year and ready to ditch his college/grad school car) because he's an English teacher.


	2. September 1984

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With apologies to [Khayyam and Fitzgerald](http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/750.html):  
> _Grading papers about Tennessee,   
> Peach cobbler, a new ep of Dynasty,   
> and thou beside me checking absentees,   
> O, Wednesday is now paradise for me!_

Ryan Seacrest lives in a modest Victorian house on Main Street in Middletown, a small downtown area that was abandoned when the mall went in, so he is able to afford the mortgage even on his teacher's salary. The other houses have been converted to apartments, and his neighbors along the street are mostly servicemen who didn't want to live on base for whatever reason, or recent college grads on their first job as a junior manager for someone or other. The original general store remains, with groceries, a pharmacy, and a real old-fashioned soda fountain that brings in the kids after ball games and during the summer. But Ryan isn't teaching those kids, so they don't think much of seeing Cowell's car pulling up to his house. Even so, when Simon comes over, which he does most weeknights as the house is much cozier than his apartment, he parks his '75 BMW in the garage with the door closed and Ryan keeps his Saab on the street.

This particular Wednesday night, they dine on steak and onion pie and salad, courtesy of Simon, and Ryan's peach cobbler awaits their nightly hour of television. In the meantime, they listen to the public radio station out of the state university, first All Things Considered and then the evening jazz show, which Ryan likes as paper grading music.

"Sometimes," Simon says, "I suspect you begin the term with Tennessee Williams merely to satisfy your own curiosity."

Ryan's green eyes twinkle as he peers over his glasses. "Maybe."

"Well?"

"New student, Blake Lewis. I don't think you've encountered him yet, but you will."

"Trouble maker?"

"No, more, willing to be different."

"Ah. Wait, new student—from some hippy dippy school out west?"

"That sounds right."

"I remember that file. Didn't seem a place to foster respect for authority."

"Well, he doesn't have what Mother would call manners, but he's deferent. Mostly when he feels it's warranted."

"You have to earn it?"

"Something like that."

"I'm sure that didn't take you long."

"As it happens, no." Ryan scribbles on the page in front of him in sable ink with his fountain pen, folds the graded page back, sets it atop the growing pile. "So, the usual stakes?" he asks, referring to their highly unprofessional bets on the sexual orientation of their students.

"Of course." Simon is double checking a pile of signed excuses against a sheet of reported absences. "I see you've made friends with Miss Doolittle."

"Jealous?" Ryan asks.

"As it happens, no," Simon replies. "But then, neither were you."

"Because those were just rumors," Ryan says, writing a comment on another paper. "Right?"

"I'm not in the vagina business," Simon says. "Certainly not music teacher vaginas."

"So there you go."

"In fact," he continues, "I've been exclusively in the literature teacher dick business for some time now."

"And how is that working out for you?"

"Better than expected, but room for improvement."

"Oh really?" Ryan asks, raising his eyebrow but not looking up from his grading.

"Mr. Seacrest, you should know that there is always room for improvement," Simon replies. "I hear you don't give out A-plus grades for that reason."

"It is also true that a good teacher is constructive with criticism, so the student is encouraged, rather than frustrated."

"I encourage when encouragement is warranted," Simon protests.

"Mmm," Ryan answers.  
Simon looks up at the mantle clock. "How many papers do you have left?"

"Just one, why?"

Simon stands up from the table. "I am going to put on the kettle and get us some cobbler while you finish, and then after Dynasty, I'll show you how constructive I can be." He drops a kiss on the back of Ryan's neck on his way to the kitchen.

"Mmm," Ryan says. "Alexis Carrington and Simon Cowell, all in one night? I am one lucky little gay anglophile."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The papers Ryan is grading are, of course, the ones he'd assigned to the AP class in ch. 4. I'm not sure I can add to what Juli has already said about Dynasty, except that Ryan and Simon didn't love it just because of a gay character, but also because of Alexis, swanning around bitchily in enormous hats or Bob Mackie gowns.


	3. October 1984

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duran Duran:  
> _sure eyes awake before the dancing is over  
> wise or naked in secret October_  
> or U2:  
> _October  
> and kingdoms rise  
> and kingdoms fall  
> but you go on … and on…_

Ryan's friends Ben and Jason like having themed dress up dinner parties on Halloween, and Ryan and Simon go as Wham!, complete with white denim outfits and poofed-out hair. The dinner is a great deal of fun, with pop stars all around—Giuliana comes as Madonna, but there is also Hall and Oates and a Boy George; Ben and Jason are the guys from Frankie Goes to Hollywood.

Simon has promised Randy that he'll look in on the end of the party some of the students were having for the younger kids, so on the way home they park in the far dark corner of the teacher's lot and Ryan hides under a dark hat and blanket while Simon runs inside. The little kids are gone by that point, and the teens are hanging about in the parking lot, playing rather loud music and dancing around one car that from the shape of it, is not a vehicle of what Ryan refers to as the smarter set. Then again, the smarter set wouldn't dance to Prince and the Police with such abandon, in the school parking lot or elsewhere. Blake Lewis, in particular, seems to be given to throwing his top hat up in the air, as though if he gets it right it will just stay afloat. But like most mortals, Blake is more Rhoda than Mary, and the hat keeps coming back down, sometimes into his hands, sometimes not, and the girls are trying to take their turn with it, too, Amy putting it on and shimmying like a Broadway baby.

Then the smarter set emerge, Maroulis (whom Ryan is very glad isn't in any of his classes) leading the way as usual, but coming up short when confronted with the show the others are putting on. Ryan holds his breath; if things get out of hand he'll probably have to go in and help, and that will lead to questions, not to mention that nearly all of them outweigh him by as Simon puts it, a good two stone. But there is some sort of conversation among the smarter set, and they move to their cars and depart without incident, Ryan scrunching down behind the dash to avoid being seen. After they clear, Simon comes out of the side door of the school, locking it behind him, and his mere appearance breaks up the dance party, though Ryan can tell by his body language that he isn't being all that stern with the kids, who deserve a bit of fun after entertaining children all evening, but simply asking them to take the party elsewhere. The music is turned off and they all leave, waving gaily to each other, the opposite of the rapid slinking out of the smarter set, and once the coast is clear Simon walks back over to the BMW.

"Anyone ask about your costume?" Ryan asks.

"No, actually," Simon says. "Perhaps they think this is what I wear in my off hours."

"Ha!" Ryan barks.

"They did a good job cleaning up," Simon says, starting the car. "All I had to do was lock up and turn out the lights."

"There was almost a thing in the parking lot. See that?"

"Yeah. But Maroulis knows he puts a foot wrong and he's out of the homecoming game. So."

"So." Ryan turns the tape deck back on, sliding in the new Smiths album that Simon has mysteriously acquired pre-release: _this town has dragged you down._

"Melancholy?" Simon asks.

"A little," Ryan admits.

Simon is quiet for a bit, clicking on his high beams along the rolling country road, then says, "There's only so much—"

"I know."

"If I—if we—would you be willing to leave here? With me, I mean?"

Ryan sits up in the seat. "You're leaving?"

"I don't know. I had an answerphone message last night from an old friend about an opportunity, the kind that doesn't come along every day. But it's in New York."

"New York City?"

"Yeah."

"If it's that good you should take it."

"Well, I don't have it yet. There's just interest. I need to send them my credentials. So—"

"Yes, Simon, I'll type up your resume."

Simon smiles. "That wasn't what I was going to ask, but thank you. Look, you went to a good school, you have awards and commendations from the state and the AP people. You could go anyplace. Would you come with me?"

"Would you go if I didn't?"

"I don't want to have to make that decision."

Ryan stares out the window. "Can I think about it?"

"Of course."

"And will you send your resume in the meantime? I don't want you saying no because of me."

"If that's what you want."

"That's what I want. So what is this great opportunity?"

"Well, this organization Bruce has been working for, that outreach to gay youth? They want to start a small school."

"Oh? That's—that's really interesting."

"Yeah. Would you feel comfortable teaching more than literature? Because I think we should send yours in, too." Simon turns into the drive, hits the automatic door opener on the dash.

Ryan unbuckles his seat belt, but doesn't move. "Wow."

"Yeah."

"And you've come to all of these conclusions since last night? What did your friend say?"

"Well, I picked up the message this morning; I haven't spoken to him yet. And these aren't conclusions. I'm just asking." Simon gets out of his car as the garage door closes.

Ryan follows him into the house. "You're asking me first, then? Before doing anything?"

"Ryan, look," Simon says, leaning against the kitchen counter, "you know I'm not the marrying sort, whether you were a man or not. And 'I love you' means almost nothing these days. But you're the most important thing in my life, and I don't want to make this decision without you."

"Really? Wow."

"So now you know how I feel."

"Yeah." Ryan is looking through the kitchen window out into the dark back yard, at the treeline and the starry sky above it.

"So what do you think?"

Ryan turns back. "I can't believe we're having this conversation standing in my kitchen dressed like pop stars, is what I think," he says, which makes Simon laugh. "And if you don't know what you mean to me, you haven't been paying attention. Or you don't have the ego I think you do."

"Look who's talking!" Simon protests.

"I was fine before you came here," Ryan continues, "but I can't go back. I'm not a backwards kinda guy."

"So?"

"So let's see what happens. Let's send our packets and see what happens."

Simon smiles. "Guess what's on the VCR?"

Ryan's eyes widen. "Ooh," he says. "I'll dish out the ice cream."

"I'll get the blanket."

"You know," Ryan says as Simon walks out of the kitchen, "next to the sex, naked Dynasty might be the best part of this relationship."

"Might be?" Simon calls out. "Is!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all of the chapters will be as literal, but of course you've seen the other side of the opening of this already, from Chris's pov, in chapter 8.
> 
> Hatful of Hollow, a compilation of BBC-1 Radio sessions for John Peel and David Jensen plus singles and b-sides, was released in November 1984. The Smiths were required listening for all Xer and slightly older gay men, and I'm still shocked when I meet younger ones who didn't spend their 16th year listening to "Hand In Glove" on repeat. With his references and obfuscations, Morrissey would absolutely have been Mr. Seacrest's favorite lyricist, particularly if Ryan were feeling morose.  
> "Blake is more Rhoda than Mary" refers to the opening credit sequences of _The Mary Tyler Moore Show_, in which Mary throws her hat in the air and the frame freezes, vs. the opening credits of the spin-off _Rhoda_, in which Rhoda does the same but there is no freeze frame and her hat lands on the ground.


	4. November 1984

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detention has its advantages

One of the first things Ryan Seacrest learned about Simon Cowell after they started dating is that he is always a tiger after Saturday detentions. Simon was a problem student himself, in his day, so he knows all the tricks. It's like a game for him, as though he's a reformed safecracker now working for the police. His goal: to weed out the ones who aren't clever or sneaky enough to be real criminals. If they can get past him, then a life of crime probably suits them anyway.

But it also means that he isn't any better at sitting still all day than they are. On a usual day he is rarely in his office, but patrolling the halls and the rest rooms, getting a smoke when the little smoking area isn't full of teens—a place from which he can also surreptitiously watch Ryan teaching through his window, and Mr. Seacrest in action is a sexy, sexy thing: talking animatedly with dirty blond hair flip flopping, cheek smudged with yellow chalk, natty little three-piece suit growing more disheveled as the day goes on. No wonder there's an army of girls with crushes.

Simon typically has with him, for the day's reading, GQ, an Esquire, and the Vogue Homme. No books or serious magazines like The Economist because then he won't be as watchful as he should be. But the photos, particularly in GQ, get him thinking of things he probably shouldn't while sitting in front of a roomful of junior hoodlums. It isn't even that the men are scantily clad; the stylish clothes remind him, of course, of Ryan.

But on this day, two of the students put on such a show—how can they think, for even a moment, that he can't see them?—that there is more than one reason he can't wait to get to Ryan's house for dinner. He walks in the back door that connects the house to the garage, and is hit by the smell of beef stew that simmering in the crock pot on the countertop—clever, since who knows when they'll actually be eating. Ryan is in the living room, curled up in the easy chair, engrossed in a book as usual; Simon imagines that he'd been one of those "I'll go to bed when I finish this chapter" sort of children. Simon puts his coat on its hook in the entryway and leaves his briefcase beneath it, then walks into the living room to test when Ryan will actually look up and realize he's there.

Points to Ryan, as Simon doesn't even have the chance to sit down. "Hey darlin'," he says, setting down a large book with the imposing title of _Lincoln, a Novel_. "Anything interesting happen? Any good contraband?"

Simon settles on the ottoman, pulling Ryan's slippered feet into his lap. "No, but I have gossip."

Ryan sits up. "Do tell."

"Well, first, I owe you a very nice meal as you were absolutely right about Blake Lewis."

"Of course I was, but how did this—"

"And you will never guess who he was fooling around with—right in the back of the hall, I might add."

"Really? Did he think you wouldn't say anything?"

"No, I think he's too clever by half, and is a very lucky young man that I am who I am."

"Aren't we all."

"Quite."

"So? Come on, who was it?"

Simon pauses for effect, then says: "Chris Richardson."

Ryan's eyes fly open. "Wow. Wow." He looks down and shakes his head. "God, that poor kid."

"Why, except in the ordinary way?"

"Blake's just young and naive; he'll get knocked around but he'll survive. Chris, though, he'll have to choose between making himself happy and making others happy, and that won't go well for him."

"No?"

Ryan shrugs. "I was the president of the student council and ran the pep rallies and edited the newspaper and the yearbook and I was salutatorian, and I wouldn't wish my coming out on anyone."

Simon scoots closer, putting Ryan's legs around him. "It's got better."

"Yeah."

"God, I would have hated you at school."

Ryan smiles. "But you love me now."

"Well, I love your arse. Come here," he says, pulling Ryan into his lap.

"Mmm, is that for me?" Ryan asks, wiggling his bottom against Simon's crotch.

"That depends," Simon replies, taking Ryan's glasses off and setting them on the table. "Have you been good?"

"Not particularly."

"Then yes, it's all yours," Simon says, and kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the detention in chapter 16, and yes, that detention is technically on December 1, but since it deals with November events, I've labeled it thus.


	5. December 1984

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaperoning a dance is not quite as boring as it might seem, especially when you can go home and have a dance of your own.

Simon of course attends every evening school function and chaperones every dance. Ryan, being unmarried, is tacitly expected by those teachers who do have families to chaperone as often as possible, and as he's always liked drama and music he generally attends all of those functions as well. It's also a silent protest; he likes sports (or "sport" as Simon likes to call it, which makes Ryan's inner grammarian wince) as much as the next man, but they do get higher teacher attendance than the more artistic extracurriculars. That said, he does find himself at a great many field hockey, softball and girl's basketball games, but that's more about being kind to the crushers. Phil Stacey, though, often attends the girls sports, bringing along his little girl, and other than Mindy Doolittle, he's the teacher Ryan feels the most comfortable around.

At this Christmas Dance Ryan is able, for the most part, to stand in the back of the hall and watch the band. The music is too fast for there to be much monkey business on the floor, and the bleachers have been collapsed back to the wall, so steady patrolling of dark corners is really enough. He's impressed, though not surprised, by AI's performance; both Blake and Gina have quite good stage craft. Bice and Daughtry are students of his as well, as he has both the AP and the remedial classes and leaves the middle to others, but they're old pros at this sort of thing. With Simon's recent revelation he's been scrutinizing Chris Richardson rather closely, and is amazed at how expertly Chris deflects all the attention showered on him, like a mirror or a particularly good confidence man. Only because Ryan already knows what he's looking for does he catch the tiny glances from one boy to the other, the tense connection palpable even at the back of the hall. It startles him, makes him wonder how successful he and Simon would be if they didn't have heteronormativity to hide behind. Or really, Simon's sarcastic irritability and Ryan's asocial bookishness, neither of which mark them as good prospects for their matchmaking coworkers.

Ryan pulls out a chair to watch as the dance committee takes down the decorations and the band load out, and it isn't long before he feels Simon's hands on his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" Ryan whispers.

"Choking you," Simon says, and does so.

Ryan turns around. "All clear?"

"Parking lot's crowded. Apparently Mr. Lewis is having a party, and they are all waiting for him to finish breaking down the equipment. So we'll be rather later tonight."

"Should I come out there?"

"No," Simon says, walking away, "Randy and I have it covered. You stay here and display your little face for the benefit of the dance committee; I'm sure it motivates them in their work."

Ryan scowls and sticks out his tongue, but Simon, of course, just laughs.

* * *

Simon drops by his flat on the way from the dance to Ryan's, just to grab the mail and clothes for the weekend and double check the answerphone. There's a letter from New York, but Simon doesn't open it, just tucks it into his jacket and heads over to the house. Ryan is standing in the kitchen, his own letter in his hand. "So you have one," Simon says, and takes out his own, and they open them together. Ridiculous, really; they aren't acceptance letters for university.

"'We would like to see you in person for an interview—'" Ryan reads.

"'—please let us know the dates of your Christmas break—'" Simon adds.

"'—we feel your philosophy and talents are well suited to this program—'"

"'—thank you for passing on the opportunity to Mr. Seacrest—'"

"'—we understand the position of your references and will be discreet—'"

"'—we look forward to seeing you in a few weeks.'" Simon looks up. "Good lord."

Ryan is at a loss for words, clearly, which never happens. He just stares at Simon, open mouthed, then finally swallows and says, "I've never been to New York."

"Reason enough to go," Simon says, and smiles.

Then Ryan does one of those things that remind Simon of how young he is: he flings himself into Simon's arms and kisses him, then whispers, "I adore you."

Simon laughs a little, trying to get back his breath, or at least his equlibrium. "Of course. I'm adorable," he says, and earns a smack on the rear for his comment.

* * *

There's about a glass left in the bottle of cabernet sitting on the coffee table. As always after a dance, they have put some slow music on the turntable and are dancing in dim light, huddled and swaying in the way that they won't allow the students to do. One of Ryan's favorites is playing now, a Joe Jackson song he says always reminds him of Simon: _you see my friend and me don't have an easy day, and at night we dance, not fight_. Ryan cuddles closer, burrowing against Simon like a small animal, and sighs. "I love this," he says.

"Me too."

"Simon?"

"Yeah."

"No matter what happens, I'll go with you."

Simon pulls back, and Ryan lifts up his head, looking him level in the eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah," Ryan replies in that determined way he has.

"That's not just the wine talking? Or the dance?"

Ryan smiles a little. "No."

Simon nods. "Well then. Here's to living someplace where we can actually live together."

From Ryan's sudden grin, it's clear to Simon that he hadn't even thought of that. "Yeah. Yeah, here's to that," Ryan says.

The music swells, and Ryan kisses him, and it's like the end of a particularly cheesy movie, but Simon doesn't care: _play us a slow song_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one: The song they're dancing to, Joe Jackson's "A Slow Song," is on _Night and Day_, as is "Stepping Out," which Gina listens to as she gets ready for the homecoming dance. The Christmas dance depicted here can be found in chapter 19.


	6. January 1985

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In with the old, out with the new.

It's New Year's Eve, good-bye overly Orwellian year with its disappointing election and ridiculous Hollywood Olympics, hello year of no real significance. Simon's friend Bruce is throwing a party in his penthouse, which is not merely a top floor luxury suite, but an actual A-frame house built on the roof of an apartment building on the east side. It's nearly all library and Ryan, predictably, is distracted by all the books, and is sitting in the corner with some blond, talking about something or other on the shelf. Simon wonders, idly, what Ryan would have been like if he'd turned outward instead of inward in reaction to his sexuality. There's a little performer in Ryan that comes out at odd times, mostly when he's able to point at someone else, like when he runs homecoming or commencement; he's very good at herding cats, which is probably why he's so good at managing Simon, though Simon only admits this when he's feeling particularly sleek and self-satisfied—and never, of course, to Ryan himself.

Bruce Gowers, who met Simon at university, comes from a great deal of money. He's an exceptional sort of man, mostly because he bothered even going to university, and once there ran around with people that he didn't go to public school with, which is how he and Simon became friends in the first place. Bruce seems connected to almost every British expat in the states, including one Nigel Lythgoe. So when Lythgoe found himself with some looming discipline problems and a faculty search that was coming up empty, Bruce asked Simon to do him a favor and help out for a year or so. Simon was getting bored in his cushy prep school job anyway, where nearly all the discipline problems could be tracked back to disrespect for authority and/or drug use, both of which Simon thinks stem directly from overindulgent parenting. He didn't think, at the time, that he'd find the same damn things going on in a small southern mill town.

But it isn't just that, of course, that causes him to stay longer than originally planned; it's love, and Bruce is the only one who knows this, as Ryan doesn't know that Simon didn't plan to stay indefinitely, and Lythgoe, of course, doesn't know about Ryan, though he will if they leave for New York together. Bruce is involved with the start-up of the Harvey Milk School, and Simon is grateful that Bruce thinks of him at these times, because if there is anything that can wash away the bad taste that Hughes is leaving in his mouth, particularly the unctuous spinelessness of Lythgoe, it's moving back to New York to help gay youth. Though he suspects that at least part of this is because Bruce is dying to meet Ryan, because Simon had been so successful at avoiding entanglements until he moved to Mayberry. Simon knows he's in deep; when Ryan said he'd go away with Simon no matter what, it was like a weight had been lifted, and he's been walking on air ever since. Not, of course, that he's really let Ryan know that, but Ryan has never needed to be told much of anything about Simon.

Besides, the sex that night was incredible.

The interviews go very well, and Simon gets the idea that the job will be his if he wants it. It's harder to get a good sense of how Ryan does, or feels about how he does, because Ryan refuses to really say. Sometimes he does this, just puts up a sudden wall, and Simon knows that it's part of the way he's always dealt with his sexuality, but wishes Ryan wouldn't do it to him. (Ryan's friend Ben, once at a party after they'd been dating about two years, let Simon know in no uncertain terms that however closed off Ryan seems to Simon, he's more open to him than to anyone else Ben has ever seen Ryan with, including Ben himself.) So instead, Simon makes a few inquiries, and finds that Ryan dazzled the panel just as Simon has predicted. And Simon loves nothing more, of course, than to be right. Happily he often is.

Being at the Institute today and meeting some of the youth that are helped by their services and who in their turn help the younger ones made Simon think about other things he's been right about lately, like Blake Lewis. He's just glad that the boy is a senior, or he might have a tiny bit of guilt for leaving him to the wolves, because Mr. Lewis can't take care of himself quite as well as he thinks he can. He can't help but admire the little shit for the stunt he pulled at the Christmas show, but the way other things are headed … well, one needn't borrow trouble. It will come or it won't, and at least he and Ryan, and a few others, are watching for it. That said, he makes a mental note to sit down with Randy, and Mr. Stacey, and Miss Doolittle, and Ms. Sloan and a few others (Paula? She cares, and she can be perceptive, but she isn't exactly _helpful_) sometime after commencement to make sure that no one falls through the cracks.

At least Maroulis will be out as well, and Simon hopes that he gets harshly dealt with by the fraternity of his choice because that is probably the boy's only chance; Simon's many conversations with his parents about respect for authority have gone exactly nowhere. Simon tries to remain above petty anger at his charges, but Ryan had taught Maroulis as a sophomore and had his hands full trying to keep the boy from taking over the class. Maroulis had underestimated Ryan, as so many do; they see the blond hair and the small frame and the natty suits and the ridiculous manner, and miss the steely determination in those grey-green eyes. Ryan ultimately prevailed, of course, and in doing so became one of the few teachers that the smarter set, as Ryan calls them, don't mess with. Not that Simon really blames Maroulis for misreading Ryan; he certainly would have at that age. Hell, he would have ten or fifteen years previous, and in introspective moments thanks the powers that be that he didn't meet Ryan until he was ready for him.

Ryan smiles at him and Simon realizes that he's been staring all this time, which motivates him to push off the kitchen doorframe he's been leaning against. He sees that Ryan's chardonnay is empty and decides to play good boyfriend and bring him a refill, when Bruce barges into the kitchen past him. "Ten minutes left! Time for champagne!"

Simon stays and helps Bruce pour the flutes and carry them around on trays to the guests, who are moving out onto the balcony. New York is enjoying a warm snap so it's quite pleasant outside, and they have a straight line to see the fireworks across the East River in Brooklyn. Simon lived in Greenwich Village before he moved south, but in their wanderings about the city Ryan has taken strongly to the brownstones of Park Slope, and Simon has to admit that he's looking forward to having a yard. Ryan finds him, slips under Simon's arm, and as they count down the last seconds of 1984 Simon feels his eyes water and blames the high rise-generated crosswinds.

"Happy 1985, darling," Simon says, and kisses his man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penthouse is real! I celebrated New Year 2000-2001 there. Previous life. But I can't tell you where it is because I can't quite remember; if anyone recognizes it, let me know, if only so when I'm on someone else's roof I can point it out!
> 
> I'll talk about the Harvey Milk School a bit later, but for those of you who hoped that Ryan and Simon would see a certain pair of teens auditioning for NYU, I remind you that Chris and Blake cut school to do so, and Ryan and Simon couldn't exactly (1) be absent at the same time (2) to interview for another job. But I thought of it!


	7. February 1985

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story behind the dozens of Valentine's Day carnations given to Mr. Seacrest, and the even more mysterious one given to Mr. Cowell.

Whenever students comment on the annual avalanche of pink and red carnations on Mr. Seacrest's desk, he always replies, "It wasn't like this when I was your age."

Which is true. Ryan usually got three or four white carnations from female friends, to whom he always sent one in return. (That really should have been a clue right there, that so many of his close friends were girls.) Sometimes there was an anonymous pink. And that was it; pretty average, really.

Now, of course, it's absurd. He'd thought it would taper off once he wasn't the young new teacher anymore, but it shows no signs of stopping whatsoever. After the first year he called his mother and asked her what to do with them. Typically she responded with crafts, so the poodles were born. He builds them during his study halls or when the students are reading quietly, and they sit around his classroom for the rest of the month. They're a good compromise, respectful of the sentiment but irreverent about the tradition itself, which Ryan thinks makes concrete the somewhat unavoidable social hierarchies in high schools.

Ryan wonders if they'll even do this at the new school—that is, if he has that job. He's pretty sure Simon does, though, which means either way this is his last year at Hughes. He's been thinking about that off and on since they got back from New York, about moving out of his little house into an apartment, maybe in one of those Brooklyn brownstones like on the Cosby Show, because living in the middle of everything feels like a bit too much of a change. He thinks about taking the subway instead of driving around in his tiny Saab, and while on the one hand he'll need to start taping more records to listen to on the Walkman, on the other hand it's that much more time to read.

And in all of this, Simon, which is the most surprising bit of the whole thing, that Simon asked him to go, that he said yes, that they even found each other because talk about needles in a haystack. Sure, Ryan loves old movies as much as the next gay man, though his taste is more to the comedies than to the semi-tragic romances—Douglas Sirk is a bit much, even with Rock Hudson—but at some point, probably when he was getting his masters, he stopped really thinking about love being in his future, and settled into being a sort of Mr. Chips. Which wouldn't have been such a bad life, really.

Mr. Seacrest sends white carnations to all the female teachers—and to Mr. Stacey, who also sends him one as a private joke, though Mr. Stacey doesn't realize what sort of joke it actually is—and a pink one, this year, to Miss Doolittle because she's a sweetheart and because she guessed his entire situation during her first week at Hughes. But a few days ago, he stayed late grading and changing the display in his classroom, so he could secretly send a red carnation to a certain dean of discipline. The pile of flowers on his desk is often the talk of the school, but the red carnation that Mr. Cowell gets every year is a Hughes mystery. Ryan just likes that it pleases Simon no end, mostly because the students can't imagine that anyone would want to make a declaration of love to Simon Cowell. Ryan, of course, has to keep himself from doing just that six or seven times a day.

When Ryan gets home there will be a little pot of African violets on his stoop from someone who knows how much Ryan loves them, because they're pretty and little and subdued and grow in the shade. Simon will come in with a dinner from that little inn near Springfield, the one that caters to the more upscale university parents, and Ryan will lay out a pretty table for two in the sunporch, with candles and china. And there'll be soft music, and Simon will keep his carnation on and be in one of his good moods where Ryan can't believe that everyone isn't in love with this man, and they'll dance before it's over. He could get hung up on how they can't do this in public, but as Simon would say, they're just that much closer to the bed.

First period is AP seniors. He looks into the back of the room and sees Blake, swinging a leg and singing to his Walkman, a red carnation in his lapel; his arch self-satisfaction is familiar, though it's odd to see it on such a young face. Ryan wonders how many other people in school know exactly who it's from, worries about that for a moment. Gina slips in and the two of them gush over their gifts. Gina looks surprised but Ryan isn't; she's going with that Daughtry kid, who yes, has struggled with apathy but always seemed to Ryan to have a good heart, the sort who worried a lot about what a man was and wasn't supposed to be, and would step up when necessary. But it's Blake's flower that makes him think about the reality of teaching in a school where it wouldn't have to be anonymous.

For that matter, he wonders what it will be like to live in a city where he and Simon can do this in public, where they're living together, where they're seen as a positive role model for the kids in their charge _because_ they love each other, and it's more than he can really comprehend. He knows—he reads, and Simon has warned him—that right now the gay community in New York is in crisis, and in some ways he looks forward to being able to actually do something about it rather than just read and shudder. It won't all be roses, but right now all they have are red carnations and African violets anyway.

The bell rings, shaking him out of his reverie, and while he knows the students are mostly staring at the heap of carnations, he can't help but worry that they could tell what he'd been thinking about. He gets up to close the door and sees Simon, out in the hall, standing where Ryan can see him but the students can't. He looks back and forth down the hall, then winks, patting his carnation. Ryan can feel his cheeks coloring, and he closes the door, walking up to the board so the students can't quite see his face.

"I know it's a cliche, but it's Romantic poets today," he says, writing _George Gordon Byron_ on the board.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harvey Milk School started in the fall of 1985 as a small program for gay and lesbian kids in the New York public school system. It has now grown into a full-sized school that is back under the supervision of the NYC Board of Ed, but at its inception it was under the control of the Hetrick-Martin Institute, an organization for outreach to gay youth in the city that Simon refers to in previous chapters. I'll talk more about Harvey Milk himself next chapter.
> 
> In 1985 the gay community in New York was definitely in crisis; Reagan still hadn't said the word "AIDS" out loud. It was still easy to feel remote from the AIDS crisis out in small town America in 1985, but in New York (or San Francisco, or Miami) it was impossible. Gay Men's Health Crisis was still the primary organizing body in New York; ACT-UP wouldn't be founded for another two years, as the community grew more willing to protest in the face of continued indifference of the government. It had only just been determined that HIV (which didn't have that name until 1986) was the cause of AIDS and the first tests were being developed in 1985. I don't get into it here, but Simon, having been a sexually active gay man in New York in the late 70s, would likely have been first in line to get one.


	8. March 1985

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Mr. Cowell _really_ asked JP about the semi-formal, and what happened later that evening.

Simon has been in a foul mood since Monday, when Lythgoe got word of Jon Peter Lewis's plans to take Tamyra to the semi-formal. Tamyra is a particular favorite of Simon's; she started working in the office during her study halls when she was a sophomore, and Simon adores how unflappable she is, so professional at such a young age. He not only wrote a glowing letter of recommendation for her, he called the admissions office at Spelman on her behalf to ensure that she got at least an interview, and they in turn called him just the other day to let him know that an acceptance letter was on its way to her. She sings beautifully, too, is part of that drama-chorus-band clique that Simon can gratefully treat with benign neglect; any trouble they get into is generally due more to high spirits than real disrespect. He knows, immediately, that Tamyra would never date anyone just to be provocative. What she sees in Mr. Lewis he does not know; he seems a bit nerdy, while Tamyra is a real looker, but perhaps it's the music. So when Lythgoe insists that Simon call Mr. Lewis into his office and interrogate him, Simon wants to protest, but instead decides to use the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity, make sure that Mr. Lewis has the mettle to help Tamyra through whatever unpleasantness is ahead of them, as she's sure to get the harsher end of the stick.

Jon Peter's manner is resigned, rather than sullen, as he walks into the office, which puts Simon even more at ease. He should have known, really, that Jon Peter would have the same kind of determination that his cousin does, even if he doesn't show it as openly.

Simon shuffles the papers on his desk, avoiding eye contact. "Mr. Lewis, thank you for coming. The question I'm expected to ask you is, are you trying to be disruptive."

"Huh?"

Typical. Simon looks up. "Your purpose in bringing Miss Gray to the dance tonight, is it disruption."

"No, sir."

"Right, I didn't think so, that will be all." Simon flicks at the paper, then decides to indulge himself. "Mr. Lewis?"

"Yes sir?" he asks, one hand on the doorknob.

"What _is_ your purpose then?"

Mr. Lewis, to his credit, looks confused. "Um, she's a cool girl and I like being around her?"

Cool seems like the right word. Simon nods. "Good man. Off you go."

As Mr. Lewis leaves, Ryan comes in, carrying two extra chairs. He takes a look in the outer office, then quickly pushes the door shut behind him. "Better?"

"I will be after tonight," Simon says, and Ryan reaches across the desk and squeezes his hand. They share a long look, then Ryan lets go and opens the door again.

Randy Jackson walks in, looks at the two of them, and rolls his eyes. He and Simon are close friends, joined by their mistrust and contempt for Lythgoe, and frequently work together to get around the more onerous of the man's edicts. Other than Miss Doolittle, he's the only one at Hughes who knows about Ryan and Simon.

"What?" Ryan says.

"Never mind. They've just arrived," Randy says.

"Great," Simon replies. "Where is—ah, Ms. Sloan," he says, as Sabrina appears over Randy's shoulder. "Come in, take a seat here next to Ryan."

Randy walks out, returns with two people behind him, and then perches on the edge of Simon's desk. Simon stands.

"Mrs. Sparks, Mr. Sparks," he says, shaking their hands. "Thank you so much for agreeing to help us."

* * *

Ryan can't remember a more tense dance in all his years of teaching, but the kids really rose to the occasion. Well, some of them, and Ryan wonders exactly how long Blake will win his little social war against the smarter set. Certainly speculation on that has kept him distracted from what is, or isn't, coming in the mail; it's ridiculous, as he's as nervous as any of the seniors. Ryan, ever the gentleman, follows Sabrina Sloan home, and her hug after he walks her to her door makes him wonder if she's guessed about him, as it's unrestrained in the way women often are with gay men but are careful never to be with even married straight ones. He wonders if the possibility of New York, and the probability of this being his last year even if he doesn't get the Harvey Milk job, have put a chink in his armor, and then decides he doesn't actually care.

He parks his car on the street, as usual, and empties the mailbox, sifting through the mail as he moves up the front walk. There's a bank statement thick with canceled checks, the water bill, a letter from a college friend, and an invitation to Ben and Jason's Oscar party in a few weeks, which includes a ballot for the pool. Ryan's money is on _Amadeus_, as even Simon liked it and he hates anything that smells of Broadway. His sentimental hopes are for the Harvey Milk documentary, which they had all made a special trip to Springfield to see during its one week run at the art house, to win its category. He thinks that if he gets the job, he'll make sure that the kids see that documentary in class, and perhaps do their local history project on gay New York, makes a mental note to find out if anyone at the New York Public Library could help them.

And its while he's having this thought, one of a million pipe dreams about curricula for a job he doesn't have yet, that he sees the envelope postmarked "New York NY 10003." His hands shake as he unlocks the front door, and once inside he collapses into reading chair in the dark and stares at the envelope. Well, if it's bad news, he'd rather get it when Simon isn't here, so he can spend that time being happy for him, as there is no way Simon doesn't have that job. He turns on his reading lamp, takes a deep breath, and opens the envelope.

"Dear Mr. Seacrest," it says, "We are delighted to inform you …"

Ryan makes a noise, half laugh, half sob. He reads it again, then stands up and jumps up and down, dancing around his living room shouting. He puts Queen on the stereo at high volume, and is singing along when Simon comes in: _I want to break free_.

Simon's laughing. "I could see you through the window," he says.

Ryan feels like his grin could split his face in two. "We're leaving!" he says.

Simon pulls a bottle of champagne from behind his back, the yellow Veuve Cliquot label glowing in the soft light of the reading lamp. "I stole this from Bruce's party," he says, "because I knew we'd want it."

"You knew?" Ryan asks, turning down the stereo.

"Well, I presumed," Simon says, walking back into the kitchen. "But I _am_ always right." He opens the bottle with a soft pop and pours into two of Ryan's juice tumblers. "Here's to a new beginning," he says, handing a glass to Ryan.

"Here's to making a difference," Ryan says, and clinks glasses. But he can't help himself—after one sip, he sets his glasses on the counter and leans over, pulling Simon into a kiss. Simon deepens it, his arm strong around Ryan's waist, and the tumblers are set in the sink as they make out. They break apart, a little breathless, and lean their foreheads together. "Here's to us," Ryan says.

"Here's to us indeed," Simon says, and kisses him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The obverse of this chapter, where JP takes Tamyra to the semi-formal, can be found at the end of Chapter 27.
> 
> _The Times of Harvey Milk_ won the Best Feature Length Documentary at the Oscars that spring, so Ryan might have won his Oscar pool given that _Amadeus_ swept nearly everything else. Harvey Milk was a camera store owner in San Francisco who ran for the board of supervisors, ultimately winning in 1977 when the board changed to neighborhood-based districts rather than city-at-large seats. He and Mayor George Moscone were killed in their offices in city hall the next year by former fellow member of the board Dan White—not because Milk was gay, but for complicated reasons having to do with city politics exacerbated by White's depression.
> 
> Harvey Milk's life and death had long-reaching effects. Despite having killed Moscone and Milk surrounded by witnesses, White got five years for manslaughter thanks to his "twinkie defense" of being unable to premeditate the killings due to depression and a junk-food sugar high. (He later committed suicide.) Universal disgust over this result led to the change of both the wording of California's "diminished capacity" law and the criteria for first-degree murder. Now-Senator Diane Feinstein, who took over as mayor, was catapulted onto the national stage. A biography of Milk, _The Mayor of Castro Street_, was Randy Shilts's first book; the San Francisco Chronicle reporter would go on to write the history of the early years of the AIDS epidemic, _And the Band Played On_. Gus Van Sant's new film, _Milk_, stars Sean Penn and will be out later this year. _Time_ named Milk one of the 20 "Heroes and Inspirations" of the 20th century, right up there with Lindbergh and Rosa Parks and Anne Frank.


	9. April 1985

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened after Ryan went to talk to Mayor Davis.

He's had it in the back of his mind ever since Dunkleman got on the board. He made his decision to leave back in December, before the trip to New York, before the letter came, so when Davis tapped Dunkleman he knew it would come to this. Ryan Seacrest, sacrificial bishop, zig zagging his way across the board.

So when the time comes, he plays the last card in his hand, the only card he was ever really holding, had ever held. After, he walks out to his car, his bright little stereotypical 6-year-old Saab turbo, and drives away cool as a cucumber, because it's still not actually him.

Around the bend, just out of sight of the house, he pulls the car over, and Simon comes out from behind a tree, like a spy. _A spy in the house of love_ Ryan thinks wildly as he climbs over the gear shift and into the passenger seat. Simon is momentarily confused, but gets behind the wheel anyway.

"Why—"

"I can't," Ryan says. He holds out his hands, and they're shaking. It's over now, and the enormity of everything is hitting him, and—"just drive."

Simon pushes in the cigarette lighter, then puts the car in gear, takes off the emergency brake, and starts back down the road. "There's something you should know—I would have told you but you were teaching all afternoon, and I wanted you to focus on Clive."

"There's more?" Ryan asks. "I did this for nothing?"

"No," Simon says. "Something else. Mr. Aiken. He was in possession of some, shall we say, suggestive photographs of Mr. Richardson, pictures that were taken by someone with a very good eye—"

"Oh God—"

"—and this afternoon some very … _responsible_ students gave them to Mr. Hicks—"

"You have to be—"

"—who despite vehement advice to the contrary, decided the best course of action was to deliver them to the boy's clergyman—"

"No—"

"and we have Friday night services at First Mayberry and Saturday morning shifts at the mill to thank for nothing being able to happen until after the revue at Greene Street." Simon lights a Kool, inhaling as though he hadn't smoked in ages.

He coughs, feels it rising in the back of his throat. "Stop—stop the car," Ryan says.

"What? We're in the middle—"

"Stop the CAR!" Ryan shouts, sitting up and unbuckling the seat belt.

"I can't—"

"STOP THE MOTHERFUCKING CAR!" Ryan screams, banging on the dashboard.

Simon pulls over to the side of the road. "What is the—"

Ryan flings his door open and vomits, violently, onto grass and gravel. Simon turns off the car, rubs Ryan's back as he retches, even after his stomach is empty. Eventually he stops and pulls himself back inside, slumps against the car seat, panting.

"Ryan, are you—"

"Just take me home," Ryan says in a raspy whisper. "I want to go home." He pulls the door closed and stares out of the window.

Ryan can feel Simon looking at him, but he can't meet even that man's eyes, or look at himself in the side mirror. They've pulled over next to a clearing where the large metal towers of the power grid cut through the forest and he watches, idly, as a crow dips and weaves between the thick high-tension wires. He realizes what _freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose_ actually means in a way he never has before. When Simon starts up the car again and pulls back onto the road, Ryan turns his head, watching the crow as long as he can.

At the house, Simon puts on the kettle, as is his wont, and then gets on the phone. While he brushes his teeth, Ryan hears Simon calling Melinda, Rev. Sligh, Phil Stacey, Randy. He emerges from the bathroom to a cup of tea sitting on the coffee table, and takes it gratefully, sitting down on the couch next to Simon.

"Could you?" he's saying, on what Ryan thinks is the fifth call, though he can't tell who's on the other end of the line. "I think we need an emergency meeting. Yes. No, I think—right. Just the thing. Exactly." He smiles at Ryan, pats his hand. "_Thank_ you sweetheart. See you later." He hangs up, then asks, "Feeling better?"

"Who was that?" Ryan asks.

"Giuliana," Simon replies. "Would you like a biscuit?"

"Yeah," he says, taking a ginger snap from a plate. "Why were you calling her?"

"Because you need your friends around you tonight if you're going to emcee the revue tomorrow."

"What if I wanted to be alone?" Ryan asks.

"I wouldn't let you," Simon says, smooth as anything. "What should we have for dinner? Ben can pick it up on his way over."

"You called Ben?"

"Giuliana is calling Ben and Jason," Simon says, "and Melinda is coming and bringing a strawberry pie. Ooh, six of us, we can play Trivial Pursuit. You're so good at the brown questions."

"But—"

"Unlike me," Simon says, "you will have to pretend that everything is wonderful tomorrow. I can scowl and stalk around, and no one will care. But you will have to run that revue you just saved, and we can't have you brooding over all this. Sunday I'll draw you a bath and you can fall apart in as dramatic a fashion as you like, and Saturday night we can get good and drunk, but tomorrow you need to perform, and that means you can't withdraw. Not from me anyway."

Ryan blinks. "I—why are you—"

"We've done what we can do," Simon says, running a hand through Ryan's hair. "It's out of our hands now."

"I just …" Ryan stops, realizes he has no words, and lets himself collapse against Simon, feels Simon wrap strong arms around him. He pulls his legs up onto the couch, tucks into Simon's lap, and doesn't even realize he's crying until he feels the wetness on Simon's shirt. "I'm sorry," he says, snuffling.

"Don't be," Simon says, and they sit there quietly for some minutes, Simon holding him tight and Ryan clinging to his shoulder. After a while, Ryan feels him poking into the front pocket of his jacket. "Good thing you insist on these handkerchiefs," he says, handing the brightly patterned fabric to Ryan.

Ryan sits up, blows his nose. "It's a pocket square," Ryan says. "Silk doesn't make a very practical handkerchief." He wipes his eyes.

"You were fantastic today," Simon says. "And you'll be fantastic tomorrow. Let your friends support you tonight."

Ryan takes a deep breath and lets it out, still a little shaky, but better. "Okay. But—"

"Look, worst case," Simon says, reading Ryan's mind again, "he'll be out of here and in Tuscaloosa by September."

"Tuscaloosa?"

"Yes. That's what Hicks wants; that's what Dunkleman will want. It's what a lot of people want. But Tuscaloosa is still a college town, even if it is in Alabama. And when he's not on that football field—well."

Ryan nods. "Where there's life. I was older than he is."

"So was I," Simon says. "So, what are we having for dinner?"

Ryan smiles. "Weaver D's," he replies. "And we'd better eat up. No barbecue up in New York City."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The obverse of this chapter, where you can see what Ryan said to Mayor Davis, is in chapter 31.
> 
> Oh, Trivial Pursuit. It blew into the US out of Canada and brought with it Alex Trebek to host Jeopardy (which was resurrected because of the popularity of the game). The colors have changed, so I must say that originally:  
> Pink: Entertainment  
> Blue: Geography  
> Yellow: History  
> Green: Science &amp; Nature  
> Orange: Sports &amp; Leisure   
> Brown: Arts &amp; Literature  
> No wild card. No 'arts and entertainment'. Trivial Pursuit was not for sissies. And Ryan would of course be really good at the "brown questions." (By the way, I'm sort of a killer, so I'll tell you the real secret to winning the game: answer as few non-pie questions as possible. "Roll Again" is your friend for this.)
> 
> Weaver D's is a little shout out to REM—their slogan, "Automatic for the People", is the title of one of their best albums.


	10. May 1985

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the chaperones were when the fight broke out at prom—and what happened after.

Generally at prom, because of the sit-down dinner, the chaperones eat at their own table in the back of the room while all the kids eat. They're serving the cake, and Simon wants to take a break to get a smoke. Ryan, of course, wants to get as far from the cake as possible; he has no desire to find out how Simon would react to his returning to his not-so-girlish pre-middleschool figure. Randy is avoiding sweets, too, so the three of them head outside, leaving the ladies who promise to find them if there's any trouble. But with Blake Lewis not attending (Ryan meant to ask Ace if Blake bought a ticket at all, but it's been a _month_ and Ryan's had a lot of distractions) none of them anticipate much out of the ordinary. Besides, as prom advisor—Simon won't shut up about how girly this is, but Ryan doesn't care; it's his last prom and he's damned if it's going to be a tacky mess—he's been in that ballroom all day and he's sick of looking at it, however nicely it came out.

So they're outside, Simon smoking, and Randy asks, "C'mon, man, when're you gonna put in the resignation?"

Simon looks around, sees no teens, says, "Last day of classes."

"What? Really?"

"Ryan is paranoid his house will be egged when people find out."

"I'd like to be on my way out of town," Ryan says. "And no trouble at commencement."

"We don't need a send-off from the students," Simon adds.

"Well—" Randy starts, but then the ballroom goes into a strange, muttery hush. "Uh-oh."

The three walk back through a little anteroom into the hallway, Simon first, but then he stops, and holds Randy back. "Wait," he says.

Ryan stands listening to Blake lay out almost every bit of rumor and hubbub Ryan has ever heard about the smarter set, and even some he hasn't—he and Simon clearly aren't the only ones whose pillow talk consists mostly of gossip—and the first thing he thinks, which he admits to Simon later, is "My god, put a hat on him and he's Alexis." Which just proves that Ryan definitely has one foot out the door.

Maroulis telegraphs his punch from somewhere in Europe, and Simon holds Randy back more firmly; Ryan thinks he's the only one who knows how strong Simon truly is. The boys scuffle, Blake holding his own better than many might have predicted, and maybe Simon isn't the only tiny strongman in the room. Sabrina and Paula and Mrs. Jones are shouting ineffectively, and Ryan mostly hopes they'll be sensible enough to stay out of the way though you never know with Paula. Finally Blake throws a metal vase into the mirror, a bizarre statement that he must have picked up from some music video or another, and runs out of the room. Then, and only then, does Simon let Randy go.

"What the hell, Cowell?" Randy says as they run across the ballroom to the door Blake had taken.

"It had to happen," Simon says, shrugging even as he jogs.

Ryan lets them go, lets the manager catch up to him, does the official tap dance that Simon detests, gets a flashlight. Gina is next to him by then, saying, "Oh my God, Mr. Seacrest, I didn't know," and he says, "I know," and they head outside for what Ryan secretly hopes will be a completely fruitless search.

It doesn't take the staff long to clean up the overturned tables and sweep up the broken glass. Ryan pitches in with the ladies to clean cake and punch off of new gowns and rented jackets with dark napkins dipped in cold club soda, while Randy and Simon have taken Maroulis off to who-knows-where. Ryan signals to Ace to get the band playing again, and the singer says _can you hear them? they talk about us, telling lies, well, that's no surprise_ and Ryan can't decide if that was a supremely horrible or sublimely perfect choice on their part. There's more dancing, many slowly forgetting what's happened if only to preserve their prom-perfect romance moment. Ryan sees Paula light up when Randy asks her to dance, then watches Brandon and Ace move their dates around the room such that they're almost always in each other's sight, and wonders if it's on purpose or if they're just that connected. He wonders, too, if it really is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

Then Simon comes in, and he decides that the choice is ridiculous. It's definitely better to just love.

* * *

They have to clear up the room that very night, because there's an overflow early-mother's day brunch in the room the next day. Simon and Randy have gone out with the police after arranging with the hotel for the damages. Ryan has no idea where the money will come from, as the deposit isn't going to cover a 10'x10' mirror, and he can't imagine that Lythgoe would bother. Ayla is outraged at the entire goings-on, but Ayla is always outraged about something, and it will give her a good story for her freshman year roommates, so Ryan doesn't worry about that. Ace seems a little pale, and Ryan makes a mental note to say something to him at some point in some way, because college isn't this town, and his life isn't this town, something that Brandon already knows—he has other obstacles—and Blake takes for granted. But for Ace and Chris, it's harder, in a way that Ryan understands.

Simon turns back up about an hour later with Randy, sees that the room is pretty well clean; the kids are starting to drift off to whatever underground party they've gained access to. The three of them walk out, Ryan and Simon promising to come by for waffles the next day.

In the hotel lot, Ryan is confused to see that his car is gone. "What—"

"I drove your car to the police station, and Randy came with me to drop it off at your house. I need a drive, and I may as well take you with me."

Ryan gets into the BMW, makes sure his seatbelt is secure, watches Simon mess with the radar detector. Simon pulls out of the lot, drives at the edge of the speed limit to the turn onto the highway, and past the speed trap just outside of town. Then he floors it, and Ryan's stomach comes up in his throat as Simon pushes the needle past 100mph. Simon is a ridiculously excellent driver; he likes going to European driving schools on his vacations, and Ryan sat in a similar BMW one summer as Simon played Pole Position on the Autobahn, so he isn't actually afraid, except for what this means about Simon's mood.

Simon turns around at the state line, and they drive back, stopping at the new Chik-Fil-A at the Exit 7 rest stop to get sandwiches and sweet tea. It's after 2am now, and Simon has finally lost the wired look he'd had earlier. He plays with a fry, looks around at the empty room and the absent staff, and then feeds it to Ryan.

"Home?" Ryan asks, and Simon nods.

As they walk out to the car he says, "I promise to drive more sanely on the way back."

"You can do whatever you want, darlin'," Ryan says. "But roll down a window, because it's getting stuffy."

"You're sure you don't mind messing up your hair?"

Ryan shrugs. "You're going to mess it up later anyway," he says. "And seriously, when we buy a new car it's going to have air conditioning." He flicks on the radio, where a deep voice is clearly very excited about GMAC financing for a new truck at "MaROUlis Motors!"

"Oh _God_," Simon said. "I'm glad we drive European cars."

A song starts, familiar piano chords, and Ryan sinks down into the seat.

Simon starts laughing, and turns up the radio: _you walk right in the door, just like you did before, and wrap my heart around your little finger_.

"Shut UP, Simon," Ryan says, and he can feel the flush in his cheeks.

Simon is singing along now, between chuckles: _all you gotta do is smile that smile and there go all my defenses_

"I never should have told you," Ryan mutters.

"Why not?" Simon asks. "It's very sweet, that it makes you think of me."

"_Made_," Ryan says.

"Oh, favorite line," he says, and sings along: _looking better than a body has a right to_

"If you don't stop I'll never give you a blow job again," Ryan says. But it's hopeless, and the song's ending anyway. Ryan decides since it got Simon back to himself a bit, maybe it's worth a little pride lost.

At home, Ryan checks the messages, but there's only Randy, saying that Blake has been found by his cousin, is home safe, and Mrs. Lewis refuses to let the cops into her house. Simon, who's collapsed onto the couch, says, "Good for her."

"Yeah," Ryan says, slipping off his tasseled evening loafers. He and Simon both own their tuxes, of course, classic lines that fit like a glove, and even sprawled out, one leg on the coffee table, tie loosened, Simon's sexier than anything Ryan has ever seen.

Simon rubs a hand over his eyes. "Well, that was horrid."

"Like you said, it had to happen," Ryan says. He pulls the ottoman over near the couch and sits down, putting a hand on Simon's thigh.

"But the high melodrama, surely we might have avoided _that_."

Ryan says nothing, just watches.

Simon sighs, and looks at Ryan. "Are we abandoning these people?"

"No," Ryan says. "I thought about that, before I agreed to go with you, and no. We're showing them that there's something else. We're showing them the way out, that they don't have to come back to this town if they don't want to, that there's more out there. Someone showed me that, once, and I got out."

Simon nods. "God, I'm so _tired_."

"C'mon darlin'," Ryan says, standing and extending his hand. "Let's go upstairs."

Simon rises, and Ryan pulls him close, letting Simon put his full weight on him. They stand clinging to each other until finally they climb the stairs, Simon's head still on Ryan's shoulder. In the bedroom, Ryan reminds Simon that as much as he wants to take care of everyone around him, he needs taking care of, too, and Ryan obliges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Pole Position](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pole_Position) was a most excellent early Atari car race game and the short hand among my friends for driving as fast as possible and passing everyone you come up behind.


	11. June 1985

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking their leave.

The day the yearbooks come in, Ryan waits for Leslie's free period to crack open the first box. They won't get distributed until the next day; the staff has to go through the manifest, make sure all the embossed copies are correct first. Leslie takes the first one out of the box, opens to an early page, and hands it to Ryan, shyly.

"Oh," Ryan says, seeing a rather large picture of himself, "in action" as Simon would say, and by its angle taken from the courtyard, through the window. It's odd, as usually when he looks at photos of himself all he can see is a nerdy little kid, short and round like a ball, teeth full of metal, trying desperately to look anywhere but the camera. Or, when Jason takes various snaps, he can hear Giuliana's technical advice to keep his chin down, favor his "good" side, avoid his rather lumpy profile, take off his glasses so his eyes "read." But this—in an instant, suddenly, he can see what the kids see, what Simon sees when Ryan catches him staring from the smoking platform, maybe even what the Harvey Milk people saw, because he fucking loves this job. Leslie's dedication makes him blush as he thanks her.

"You should know," he says, "and don't tell anyone yet—Lythgoe doesn't even know—but I'm leaving. So this was very prescient of you. I'll actually—I'll be in New York, teaching in the East Village, a new school. So goodbye to all this, but not to you, as it happens."

"Oh! So that's great, I can still see you, and you say we should always be looking for new challenges."

"Yeah, taking my own advice."

"A new special school? Is that the challenge?"

He looks at her, takes his glasses off, fiddles with them, makes up his mind. "It's a school for gay youth, the Harvey Milk School."

"Oh." Leslie bites her lip, and then: "Mr. Seacrest?"

"Yes."

"Are—does that mean you're gay?"

Ryan cleans his glasses with his pocket square. "Does teaching at the Harvey Milk School mean I'm gay? No. Am I gay?" He puts his glasses back on. "Yes."

"Should I keep that under my hat, too?" she asks.

"Probably."

She nods. "Can I ask another question?"

"Sure."

"Are you dating someone?"

He blinks. "Yes," he says, hoping this isn't going anywhere uncomfortable.

"Is he going with you to New York?"

"Yes," Ryan says, and can't help but smile a little.

Leslie smiles back. "Good. I'm glad."

"As am I," Ryan replies.

* * *

Commencement comes with a minimum of incident—or as Simon says, "just the right sort." Tamyra introduces Simon to her family, and they insist that he come for Sunday dinner that very weekend, which he accepts with alacrity. Ryan wanders by at that moment, and Tamyra's Aunt Fantasia calls out, "Mr. Seacrest, you should come, too." Ryan cocks his head at her, oddly, but agrees. Simon is relieved not only not to have to navigate these tricky social waters without a guide, but also that to these nice people he and Ryan are just two bachelor teachers in need of some home cooking. This, he'll miss; few private school parents invited him to dinner. Then again, private school parents berated their children if they didn't manage to get into good schools, rather than celebrating them when they did. At dinner Simon insists that he had little to do with Tamyra getting into Spelman, but Ryan rats him out in a way that makes Simon look good but doesn't diminish Tamyra's accomplishment in the least.

When Tamyra walks them out, full of sweet potato pie and carrying foil containers of leftovers, Simon says, "Tamyra, I just want you to know, it's been an honor, watching you mature. You should be very proud of yourself."

She smiles, sweetly. "Thank you, Mr. Cowell. Now you'll have to break in a new girl to use paper clips and never staples."

Simon laughs—he can see Ryan rolling his eyes, just off to the side near the passenger door. "Yes, about that. Don't tell anyone, but I'm leaving Hughes, actually, at the end of the year, to take a position in New York."

She shakes her head. "I have to say, I'm not surprised," she says. "There were a lot of significantly closed doors this spring."

"That's one way to put it," Simon says. "Very diplomatic."

"Oh, and Mr. Seacrest?" she asks. "Thank you, you know, for what you did for us."

"How—" Simon begins, but Ryan holds up a hand, saying, "Miss Barrino—Aunt Fantasia—she works for Mayor Davis. Tamyra, I was happy to do it. Miss Doolittle is a friend."

"See," Simon says, wagging his finger, "nothing gets past this one." He hands her a slip of paper, on which he's written the address of the Harvey Milk School. "Now, do write, let me know how you're doing?"

"I will." Tamyra hesitates, and then launches herself at Simon, giving him a hug and a peck on the cheek.

"Well!" Simon says. "Good luck, Miss Gray."

"I think I've already got that," she replies.

* * *

The resignations land on Lythgoe's desk at the end of the last day of school. They don't mention where Ryan and Simon are headed.

Simon invites Randy, Sabrina Sloan, Phil Stacey, Melinda, and a few other teachers he or Ryan hold in particular regard over to Ryan's house to talk about some of the underclassmen Simon has had his eye on. He even includes Paula, because so much happens in that girls locker room. He's left a detailed folder for his replacement, but he doesn't trust Lythgoe to find an adequate one (after all, he didn't find Simon on his own) and he wants to make sure Randy has adequate support. Their story is that the same agency that placed Simon at Hughes has given him a spot back in New York, and Simon plays up the little-known fact that he was never supposed to be permanently at Hughes; that Lythgoe grew complacent, really, is Lythgoe's problem. The staff all know that Ryan and Simon are good friends, so that Simon is bringing Ryan along as a colleague isn't surprising; everyone's been waiting for Ryan to find greener pastures for a while now, after the awards started coming. Simon wouldn't have minded telling more of the truth, or even announcing their resignations earlier, but Ryan, who has already quietly sold his house to one of the landlords who owns other houses on the street, doesn't want even the chance of trouble before they leave.

Phil and Sabrina, though, aren't fooled, and they stay after most of the other teachers have left, when it's just Randy and Melinda and Paula, and demand the truth. Sabrina smiles triumphantly, and Ryan winks, tells her he expects her to visit them once they're settled in New York. Paula bursts into tears and hugs them both, and makes a heartfelt speech that Simon isn't sure is entirely in English, let alone makes any sense, but includes the words "brave" and "love" and something about the colors of the rainbow. Phil is quiet, thinking, and then says, "You know, you could have told me, man."

Ryan smiles sadly. "You never _know_. Not around here. And you are too good a friend to lose."

Phil looks about to say something, but instead pulls Ryan into a hug. "Hey," he says, as they pull apart, "I've been sending you carnations for five years. Shouldn't I get a little action out of that?"

"No," Simon says, very sternly, but Ryan just laughs.


	12. July 1985

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Cowell and Mr. Seacrest say their goodbye to John Hughes Memorial Regional High School—the building, that is.

Of course Harvey Milk can't pay for the move, but Bruce feels a little guilty for getting Simon mixed up with Hughes in the first place (though not _that_ guilty as after all, Simon got a hot young thing to mysteriously fall in love with him out of it, didn't he?) so he pays for the move and also gets his realtor to look for first-floor brownstone flats with gardens in Brooklyn. It's not quite in her line, but she's a pro, and has five places in the right price range, with Ryan's specifications, for the couple to look at when they come up the last weekend in June. They settle on a particularly light and airy one not far from the subway, and there's talk of a dog. The movers are due at the first of August, and they're selling both of their cars, as they'd only need one and it may as well be new.

When they get back, they head over to Hughes to clean out their desks. Summer school is scheduled to start the next week, after the July 4th holiday, so they have the building to themselves. Ryan has never kept much in his classroom, actually; he likes his books to be home when not in use. While he might have put some personal items in the office they use for newspaper and yearbook, he can look at Simon pretty much whenever he wants to so there's no need for that. Besides, the lock on the door is a bit wonky, so the drama kids tend to hide out there. Not that he minds; they never disturb anything, and he may not have known except that they never do remember to relock the door when they leave. And certainly the other groups have their own sanctuaries, like Studdard's weight room, or the smoking area Simon likes to think he owns (his relationship with the burnouts is deeply complex, something Ryan doesn't even try to understand). But there are a few odds and ends, pictures of authors on the wall, supplies he's purchased himself. Nothing that can't be packed in about an hour and put into a document box. Everything else he takes down, pulls out, filling two large garbage bags, determined to leave no trace of himself behind in the room he's occupied for eight years.

It's hot work, cleaning out the stuffy classroom, and he's glad he's wearing just a tshirt, shorts and sneakers. He drags the trash out to the dumpster himself, not wanting to leave Mr. Huff with the mess, and then brings his small box out to Simon's car. From the parking lot he can see into Simon's office window, and he's just sitting there. Surely he would be done by now? Ryan goes back in and right up to his office, and Simon is sitting in his chair, staring at the desk. Odd, to see him in this room in his usual weekend wear of jeans and t-shirt. His things are in a box on a chair by the door, and the walls of the office are barren—not that much had been on them to begin with.

"You know," Simon says, not looking up as Ryan walks in, "there were days when I would be sitting here and catch myself thinking about you. When we first started, of course, and then again recently, after you—after you said you'd come with me." His eyes meet Ryan's. "Close the door."

Ryan does, and locks it, and thinks of that first day, almost four years ago now, when Simon had taken him by surprise. "What do you think about?" he asks.

Simon pulls down the shade, turns on the lamp next to the desk. "Getting home so I could mess up whatever suit you were wearing. Or how to get you in here so I could bend you over this desk and fuck you." His voice is soft, a sort of whispery growl.

"God," Ryan says, and in three quick steps he's around the desk and in front of Simon, and they're kissing, hard and fast. Simon is standing and Ryan sits on the desk, wraps his legs around Simon's waist, and they're both hard in seconds, hard for all the times they've both fantasized about doing it here, or someplace else in the school. Clothing melts away and Ryan has to bite his lip, then suck hard on Simon's shoulder as Simon's fingers enter him, thick cream on them from who knows where, and then Simon is inside him, and how can something so familiar still be so hot? Ryan's ass knows every ridge of that thick cock, as do his mouth and fingers, but the way it moves is still a surprise. They tilt, giving Simon more room to thrust, and Ryan's back and ass are sweaty and stick to the desk blotter. Simon is grunting, and that's familiar, too, animalistic and unbelievably sexy, like the dark hair that covers his body. Ryan leans into it, riding him and thrusting against him, and then Simon comes, hard and pushing into Ryan. After a moment, during which Ryan kisses him, calming him, Simon reaches between them and gets Ryan off, quickly, efficiently, staring into Ryan's eyes.

They kiss again, then Ryan says, "Well."

"Yeah," Simon says, slipping out of him, tossing the condom on top of his other trash.

"We've made a mess of this blotter," Ryan says, pulling his shorts back on.

"Leave it for Lythgoe."

"But Mr. Huff is the one who'll have to deal with it," Ryan says, smiling to himself that the old hooligan is still there, underneath the veneer of civility.

"Oh, well, that's no good," Simon agrees. "We'll put it in the dumpster."

"Where are the paper towels?"

"Stay still," Simon says, and leans down to lick Ryan's stomach clean.

"Jesus. I think you just gave me another hard-on."

"Good," Simon says, grinning. "We can continue this at home."

Later, much later, Ryan lies awake listening to Simon softly snoring. They've fucked in three different rooms of the house just that evening, and Ryan had teased him about being too old to have that many erections in one day. He isn't sure if it's relief or excitement or fear that has Simon so on fire, probably all three, or another one of those mark-my-territory things he does sometimes, big cat that he is. He wonders, vaguely, what it will be like to not have to hide. Not that they'll do anything inappropriate, but they will be able to smile at each other in the hallway, and not worry what people will say. He wonders if they can really go from being in the shadows to being role models, looks over at the sleeping Simon, and thinks, why not?


	13. August 1985

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile the road trip, which has been approaching for several chapters, is at last here.

The movers left yesterday. It took them no time at all to clean out Simon's apartment, since there hadn't been much in it to begin with. Ryan's house took a bit longer, mostly because of the 30 boxes of books. Randy teased Ryan about it but Simon said, "They're his friends."

The night before that, there had been a going-away party, and not just for Ryan and Simon; moving has spread through Ryan's little gang like a virus. Giuliana met a handsome businessman, Bill, on one of her buying trips to New York, and things got serious remarkably quickly. She's moving to Chicago where Bill is based, and has found an even better job buying for Neiman Marcus; Bill's in town to help G pack up. Jason and Ben are leaving too, for San Francisco; Ben's finally got a job reviewing movies for a small weekly paper, and figures he can supplement with some stringer work. Jason says it wouldn't have been fun at work without G anyway, and has some leads at both department stores and boutiques that look promising. The three couples meet up at Jason and Ben's for barbeque and trivial pursuit. But it isn't really goodbye—they'll all be reunited in Italy in June for her and Bill's wedding. Besides, they're all moving to, as Ben says, "very visitable locations."

After the movers left, they went to the Staceys' for a pot luck, and the table groaned with the southern favorites Ryan will dearly miss and even Simon has grown to love. It was nice to be around that crowd and not have to remember not to reach for Simon's hand, not to stand too close. Ryan wonders what it would have been like to do this all the time, and thinks, after this year, that it wouldn't have been possible, not in Mayberry. But in New York …

They drive away in a brand-new '84 BMW 5-series, a deal since the '85s are coming out soon, bought in Springfield where both demand and taxes are lower than in New York. The cooler in the back seat is full of leftovers: greens and butter beans, biscuits and a jar of gravy, pulled pork and a bottle of Weaver D's sauce, ham and carefully wrapped deviled eggs, and a whole pie from Melinda that she'd kept back from the pot luck crowd—more than enough food for the first few days in the new apartment. They hit the road early in the morning, with the sun coming up, so they'll be in Brooklyn by nightfall, especially the way Simon drives. It's odd to think that they won't be back here, and as they pull away from his little house Ryan feels a little lump in his throat, but once they're in fourth Simon holds his hand, and it's okay. They stop for breakfast on their way out of town, so Gina and Nikki are really the last ones they say goodbye to, and Gina even gives Simon a hug, which Ryan wishes he'd taken a picture of.

Ryan loves road trips, and he and Simon have taken plenty of them. He particularly adores being driven by Simon which suits Simon very well as he gets antsy in the passenger seat. Simon driving is sexy, as is Simon in command of anything that isn't Ryan. His hands on the gear shift and steering wheel, his legs bending as he moves his foot on and off clutch and gas, even his profile, where Ryan can see the brown eyes behind the Ray-Bans, all are the more obvious reasons he's half-hard most of the time on a road trip. But under that, and particularly on this road trip, is just the thrill of sitting in the front seat with him. Ryan is a child of the 50s and his parents drove he and his sister all over the country on those sparkling modern Eisenhower highways, in a deep green 1959 Pontiac bought mostly because it was so damn wide that the kids couldn't fight over the back seat. He remembers his father, who was not a publicly affectionate man, reaching across to rest his hand on his mother's knee. So now, when Simon does the same thing (well, more often his thigh, but that's Simon) Ryan thinks, "We're a couple." He's been living in the shadows for so long that he often can't quite believe that it's true, but this—driving to their new home in a car they bought together, unwrapping him gum and opening him cans of soda, maps of the south and mid-atlantic on his lap, and Simon's hand, warm on his thigh—this is undeniable. Ryan sighs, and sinks down into the seat.

As if on cue, Simon lets out an enormous belch. "Sorry, too much Diet Pepsi, or perhaps breakfast sausage."

Ryan starts laughing, and Simon sits up a little straighter in his seat. "What?" he asks.

"I love you," Ryan says, still laughing.

"Of course you do," Simon says, smiling. "I changed your life."

Ryan rolls his eyes at this, but says nothing.

In a new soft leather zipper case that fits between the two front seats are enough mix tapes to last through the entire trip: country from Phil, who worries that there are no country stations at all up north; gospel from Melinda, who worries about their immortal souls and hopes they can find "some good Christian gay men" for fellowship; R&amp;B from Randy, whose divas have won Simon over from his Euro-pop roots; bits of movie scores from Ben, who is nothing if not single-minded; and pop from Giuliana, whose love for Madonna is deep, true, and devoid of irony. Right now, though, they're listening to one of the tapes Blake gave to Ryan, full of songs and bands Ryan's never heard of, which makes him feel a bit old to be honest. A woman sings: _treat me to an honest face sometime, amaze me now_.

"All right," Simon says suddenly, "you changed my life too."

Ryan laughs again. "I wasn't waiting," he says, putting his hand atop Simon's.

"I know," Simon says. "That's why I love you. Lunch soon?"

"Yeah," Ryan replies. "Sounds good."

The sign on the highway says, "Next exit: Shenandoah National Park" and every thought and hope and memory Ryan's had in the last ten months crash together in his head: _it's fare-thee-well, my dear, I'm bound to leave you …_.

* * *

Diner breakfast, Chik-Fil-A lunch, cheese steak dinner in Philly, and they get to Brooklyn around nine. Parking isn't too terribly difficult, and there isn't much in the car to unload anyway—two sleeping bags, a suitcase, the food and paper goods, a few books so Ryan won't get withdrawal pains, the tape case and a radio-cassette player too tiny to deserve the words "boom box." Simon pulls the radio out of the car, too, and pokes around to make sure there's nothing worth stealing inside. The movers should arrive the day after tomorrow—Ryan isn't sure why it takes them longer; he knows there is some sort of complicated system where they make a lot of side-journeys, but tries not to worry about it. All that's really important is that the keys work and the gas and electricity are turned on.

They set up in the back bedroom, after putting the food away in the fridge. Ryan opens a lot of windows and there is a cross breeze, but not enough of one. "Tomorrow," he says, stepping out of his jeans, "we get fans and an air conditioner."

Simon chuckles. "God forbid you ever sweat, Ryan," he says, peeling off his own t-shirt. "So, you aren't too tired …"

"Are you kidding?" Ryan asks. He puts his arms around Simon's waist. "First night in our new apartment together? After all that driving? You'd _better_ fuck me." They kiss, and Ryan's legs actually buckle, pulling them down onto the floor. The stress of moving has reduced sex to a necessary relief valve lately, and even now they're moving pretty fast, hard and writhing against each other. Simon grabs the lube and a condom and Ryan pulls his boxers off, tipping up his hips for easier access, and after a little preparation Simon slides in, smooth and sure. It's everything it should be: sloppy kissing, thumbs brushing against hard nipples, and it doesn't take them long. They've been simmering all day, riding in that car, and now it's finally boiling over.

After, Simon lifts his head up from Ryan's chest and says, "Shall we break in another room?"

"You think you can break your record of last month, old man?" Ryan teases.

"I can try," Simon says. He hauls himself up to his feet, and reaches a hand out to Ryan, who rises and follows him into the second bedroom.

The next morning Simon wakes to see a note from Ryan, that he has run to the bodega to get coffee. He's brushing his teeth, wandering around the flat, and sees a sheet from the same scratch pad sitting on the windowsill in the second bedroom. Wondering if it's another note, he unfolds it and sees, in Ryan's precise handwriting:

> 10pm—S tops, big bedroom  
> 10:30pm—frottage, small bedroom  
> midnight—hand jobs, dining nook  
> (nap)  
> 2am—R tops, kitchen counter

Simon grabs the pencil, adds at the bottom in a listing scrawl:

> 9am—oral, living room  
> A Very Healthy Breakfast!

He hears the door open. "Simon, you up?"

Simon walks into the hall. "Welcome home, darling. Would you like something to eat?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can thank President Eisenhower, and the cold war, for our interstate highway system. After fighting a war on Hitler's new roads in Europe, he was determined to improve the roads in the US, if only to make it easier to move troops around in case of an invasion or other national emergency.
> 
> As for the note at the end, it's an homage to D.L.Sayers, though I didn't realize it when I wrote it. Of course, Harriet started and Peter finished a sonnet, not a note about sex acts. The summary has been slightly altered from the original William Carlos Williams.


	14. September 1985

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A home with a garden, books and a dog, the footsteps of friends—and you.

"Mmm, good morning."

"Good morning."

"Is this your new way of waking me up?"

"It worked."

Ryan looks over at the dog bed in the corner, sees that their rat terrier, Colin, is watching, his head resting on his paws, and decides he doesn't actually care. Ryan reaches down, runs a hand through Simon's hair. "Come back up here," he says, voice still husky with sleep, and when Simon complies Ryan pulls him into a deep kiss.

After a bit, Simon says, "another go?"

"Yeah," Ryan says, lips still on Simon's, "but then I have to get cooking."

"Oh right. I promise to behave."

"I don't care what you do," Ryan says. "They're not our students anymore. And besides, they already know."

"They know I do this?" Simon asks, slipping a hand between Ryan's thighs.

"Oooh—I don't think they've thought about it _that_ much," Ryan replies. He pulls Simon close again, then flips them over so Simon is on his back, Ryan sitting on his thighs. He reaches for the tube atop the nightstand.

"Don't need much more of that," Simon says, "after last night."

Ryan feels hot, wonders when he'll stop blushing when Simon talks about the sex they have. He focuses on the task at hand, rubbing lube on Simon's cock, then tosses the tube aside. Simon has a firm grip on Ryan's waist, lifting him up and holding him steady while Ryan maneuvers Simon's cock into his little hole, still a bit stretched and wet from the night before. He sinks down slowly, eyes closed and teeth clenched against the intrusion, until he's sitting against Simon's thighs again. He opens his eyes and Simon is staring at him, eyes a little glazed over, and Ryan smiles at him.

"Gorgeous," Simon says, and Ryan feels it, but all he can think to say is, "us." He starts to move, sliding up and down on Simon's cock, and Simon's hand is warm on Ryan's cock. Ryan has his hands on Simon's forearms, and even with everything else it's particularly hot to feel the muscle flexing as Simon jacks Ryan off. The sun shines in the bedroom window, bright on the creamy sheets, and Ryan feels warm in every way possible, all the way down to his toes. He moves faster, loving the way Simon is looking at him, and then he's not even sure who started it but they're both coming, not really together but a kind of one-two punch that he suspects Simon made sure of. Ryan collapses into Simon's arms, breathless.

He feels Simon turn his head. "Only time for one shower. Guess we'll have to take it together." He kisses the top of Ryan's head.

"You know," Ryan says, talking into Simon's chest, "I don't think taking showers together actually saves us any time."

"Perhaps not, but it's much more pleasant."

* * *

Simon is setting the table in the back garden when the doorbell rings. Ryan is busy in the kitchen, so he strides through the apartment to answer the door. "Hello!"

Leslie and Blake are young enough that they don't hide their surprise all that well, and Simon thinks, "like hell they already know." Leslie recovers first, sticks out her hand in the usual clever girl manner. "Hi Mr. Cowell!" she says brightly. "Um, we brought some fruit!"

She elbows Blake, who's still a bit googly-eyed. "And egg tarts," he says.

"Well! Come in, come in," Simon says. "Please, call me Simon; I'm not your teacher anymore. Don't mind the dog. Colin, back in the garden, go on now," he says, herding him through the back door. "Here, I'll give you the very brief tour. This is the living room, as you can see."

"Wow," Blake says. "A lot of books."

"Ryan _is_ a literature teacher," Simon says. "This is our little dining area, and here's Ryan in the kitchen. Look, they brought us things."

Ryan looks up from where he was frying breakfast potatoes. "Wow, great," he says, taking the packages from Simon.

"Hi Mr. Seacrest!" Leslie says, and Ryan moves to hug her, and shake Blake's hand. "Can I help?"

"No, I'm almost done here. I'll be right out."

Simon leads them down the hall. "This is our office and guest room, more books as you can see, but the pull out is actually quite comfortable—Ryan's friend Giuliana stayed with us after the fashion shows two weeks ago. I do like the club chair in the corner, and so does Colin. The bedroom, which as you can see is very beige—"

"Simon!" Ryan warns.

"Sorry!" Simon calls back. "Ecru and chocolate with accents of brick and hazelnut." Blake raises his eyebrows, and Simon says, "No comment."

"I heard that," Ryan calls out.

Simon closes the door and leads the way to the back garden, where Colin is playing with a small stuffed squirrel. He sees Simon and trots up to get his toy thrown across the garden. Ryan is right behind the kids, carrying a bowl of the cut fruit Leslie had brought.

"We can start with this," he says, putting it on the outdoor table, "and end with the tarts. We're having benedict, so do either of you have a problem with runny yolks on your poached eggs?" Leslie and Blake shook their heads, still looking a bit shell-shocked to Simon, but then they did just see the bedroom. Incontrovertible evidence, that.

As Ryan heads back into the kitchen, Simon asks, "Bloody Mary?" He stirs the pitcher with a celery stick. "These are virgin but there's vodka here in the ice bucket," he says, pouring some vodka in his own glass of ice. Blake looks uncertain, staring at the bottle, then reaches out his hand. "There you go," Simon says. "Come on now, Leslie, no one's driving."

"Sure," she says, and Simon grins.

"_Now_ it's a real party." Simon pours four drinks and Leslie is already dishing out fruit salad. "Ryan will ask you about your classes—he'll be out in a minute—but what I want to know is, are you making friends?"

"Friends?" Blake asked.

"Look, Blake, Leslie, the reason I'm good at my job is that I'm very concerned with the social lives of the students, because that's where all the trouble comes from. I know who is going to which party, and what happened there, and who's been dropped from the popular crowd—Ryan always calls them the 'smarter set' but Ryan also likes to pretend that it's 1962—"

"Excuse me?" says a voice from the kitchen.

"—and who turned who down for a date, and which boy the girls all want, and for that matter, who is all but having sex in the back of the hall during Saturday detention."

Blake starts coughing and Simon has to bite his lip to keep from grinning. Luckily Ryan walks out at that moment with two plates. "Are there rocks in it?" he asks, setting one in front of Blake and the other before Leslie.

"Just went down the wrong way," Blake manages, taking a sip of water.

"Okay. Um, this is sort of eggs benedict and florentine at the same time, some nice country ham and spinach—not yours, Leslie, yours is just spinach. There's more hollandaise, and salt and pepper and ketchup are on the table, anything else? Simon, can you help me?"

Simon follows Ryan back into the kitchen, where Ryan mutters, "That was unkind of you."

"What?" Simon whispers back. "He should know that people are watching."

"Yes, but they're apart," Ryan says. "If he wasn't over it in June he won't be over it now." He hands Simon his own plate.

"Fine, fine," Simon says, and they head back out to the garden.

Ryan sits with his plate and the little pitcher of sauce. "This is really great," Leslie says, "thank you Mr. Seacrest."

"Please, it's Ryan," he says, and then looks over to Simon. "What? What's the problem?"

"There's spinach on mine," Simon says.

"There's spinach on all of them," Ryan replies.

"But—"

"I don't want to hear it, Simon. Eat your greens, and don't try giving them to Colin, either."

Simon pours more hollandaise over his eggs and Ryan rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

"Do you have anything else to say?" Ryan asks.

Simon turns to Blake. "I'm sorry, Blake. I only meant to tease you, not remind you of anything painful."

"No, it's all right," Blake says.

"Good. By the way, Ryan, you owe me a tenner."

"Why?"

"Because they didn't know."

Ryan looks at Leslie and Blake. "How could they not know? How could you not know? I came out to both of you personally." Leslie and Blake nod. "That should have been enough—"

"Ryan, I keep telling you, students don't pay attention to us."

"—and you knew we were going to work at the same school—"

"So did our colleagues and they didn't think of it."

"—and Gina saw us leaving town together in the same car!"

"Well," Leslie says, "it just seemed improbable, I mean, Mr. Cowell—Simon, you're so much older."

"Tamyra _did_ always say he's secretly nice," Blake says. "But we never believed her."

"I'm glad I have _one_ fan," Simon says.

"What did you think was going on?" Ryan asks.

"Well," Leslie says. "that you're friends?"

"That you were getting a ride?" Blake asks.

"Does that make sense?" Ryan asks.

"Well, it is kinda convoluted," Blake admits.

"Simplest explanation is usually the truth," Ryan says. "That's the problem with conspiracy theories; they're too complicated."

"Yes, sir," Leslie says. "Wait, Ryan?"

"Mmm?"

"You aren't wearing your glasses. After you would make a point you would always push up your glasses, but you aren't wearing them."

Ryan grins a little, says, "I'm trying to wear contacts more. I still usually teach in glasses, though."

"I always liked the glasses," Simon says, "but obviously I have a thing for bookish nerds."

Ryan nods. "Penance for previous bad behavior," he says.

"Perhaps. But green eyes and boyish charm go further in raising money from older wealthy gay men."

"Wow, your eyes are awfully green," Leslie says.

"I've seen greener," Ryan says, looking at Blake.

Simon isn't sure what Ryan meant, but he's blushing again, which amuses Simon, so he goes on. "Last week he hosted an auction and got a record amount for Hetrick-Martin. He really has the touch with those donors. He's becoming quite the little A-lister; they want him to help raise money for GMHC too. He's going to leave me for some sugar daddy before long."

"Stop that, no I'm not."

"_I'm_ older."

"You're not that much older, and you certainly don't act it."

Simon tips his head. "True."

"Plus you were already an A-lister, Simon. There were three separate parties given when we got back to town, only it was August, so they were all out on Fire Island."

"We should get a share next year," Simon says.

Leslie says, "Gosh, now I wonder how I _didn't_ see it."

"No kidding," Blake says. "You're like, married or something."

Simon raises his eyebrows but Ryan just starts laughing, and Simon isn't sure he's ever seen Ryan look happier.

When he recovers, Ryan says, "Anyway, the record had as much to do with your story as anything I did."

"Oh, right," Simon says, turning to Blake. "I might have to apologize again; I'm afraid we've been using you."

"Using me?" Blake asks around a mouthful of home fries.

"Well, everyone, the whole year we had. It's a very powerful argument for the existence of the school. The donors can pat themselves on the back that it could never happen here—which, frankly, makes me wonder if they've ever _been_ to an outer borough—while also recognizing that the cause is as important as any other. When they feel good about themselves, they give more. But Ryan's flirting does help."

"Well," Blake says, "I think—I think if something good can come out of it, then that's all right. And we're all okay, anyway, except Clay I guess."

"Clay is getting the help he needs," Ryan says. "But we should stop doing all the talking. So, tell me all about your classes, what are you taking?"

The kids do eventually answer Simon's questions, too—there's talk of clubbing, and concerts, and Simon can read minor drug use between the lines, but also music and literature and research and you-should-read-this-book. Ryan takes particular interest in Blake's sociology course as he's taken on all the social sciences as well as the humanities, and the kids are shocked again to hear that Simon is back to teaching maths. Lab sciences and arts are farmed out to NYU graduate students, but Ryan and Simon know Blake's music teacher, Anwar, very well as he also helps out at the school. After brunch there are egg tarts and tea, and a lot of playing with Colin, and the kids are there for a good four hours before they finally beg off to finish their weekend assignments, promising to return in another month or so.

Ryan settles down on the couch next to Simon, and Colin immediately hops up onto their laps, wriggling a little before settling down. "So, we're 'like, married or something.'"

"Looks like," Simon says.

"I thought you weren't the marrying sort."

Simon shrugs. "You won't be able to get any money out of me, so I suppose I'm not in much danger."

"Not in much danger of my leaving you, either," Ryan says.

"Well, there's that."

Ryan sighs. "Why do you pretend to be so unsentimental when you're the world's biggest sap?"

"Because you love it," he replies, grinning.

"Well, there's that," Ryan says, and kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary taken from Gilbert Blythe's proposal to Anne Shirley, in _Anne of the Island_. Colin and his squirrel are real, though their names have been changed.
> 
> Mr. Cowell and Mr. Seacrest will say their last goodbyes in the main story, but this is the end of the story I wanted to tell—of how and why and when they left, of how the events of that year changed them as well.


End file.
